You Made Me Laugh He Made Me Cry
by CloudCuckooLandHasAQueen
Summary: We all know that Tom isn't a sociopath and isn't the sharpest tool in the shed but outside of that, we know very little. Here's a little insight on the beginning, middle, and end of Molly's relationship with a little Sherlolly thrown in. This was just a little thing bouncing around my head for a while.


**Looks like the oneshot fairy is back! I decided to write something that was humorous and dramatic. I wanted to examine Molly and Tom's relationship a little, as well as a bit of the usual Sherlolly. No John here, because again, I'm crappy at writing him for some reason.**

Molly didn't see the similarities originally. In fact, she mainly saw a total idiot that accidentally tripped, fell headfirst into her lap, and in the process spilled wine all over her dress and yanked the tablecloth down with him. He looked up at her and gave a sheepish grin before proceeding to apologize, panicking over her reaction and digging his hole of embarrassment deeper. Seeing an element of her own fearful self for a moment, she reached forward and poked him in the middle of the forehead, giggling.

"You make me laugh. I like that."

The tense air that filled the room beforehand was suddenly lifted with her words. She helped pull him up into his proper chair.

"Uhm—hi I'm Tom Bailey—Well Thomas—but they call me Tom—most people do that is."

"I'm Molly Hooper. It's just Molly." She shook his hand with a dramatic nod before turning towards their mutual friends.

"So Molly," Henry, her old colleague asked, "I heard that you uhm—were there when Sherlock Holmes—"

"Took a dive off the hospital Yeah." Molly nodded, "That was a right mess. It took ages to clean up and I was one of the only forensic pathologists on staff at the time."

"Wait didn't you know him?" Nina wrinkled her nose, "That's a bit weird, autopsying a person you know, there's usual red tape around that sort of thing."

Molly stared down at her glass for a moment, "Sherlock's elder brother declared me best fit for the job—Sherlock only ever worked with me so—so I suppose that's how that'd go." A wave of melancholy rolled over her, just as it did every time she lied about it. Sherlock was alive, but the way it felt, he might as well have been dead.

At that precise moment, Tom stood up and accidentally crashed into a waiter behind him, causing a platter full of little stuffed quails to fly everywhere. Molly couldn't help the shrieking laugh that erupted from her, filling the otherwise silent and shocked restaurant with it (They were amazed by the fact that the man managed to blunder twice within ten minutes of arriving at the fine establishment). She clapped a hand over her mouth, suddenly feeling quite bad for that, but when Tom beamed at her, she realized he had done it on purpose.

No one had ever endured public humiliation to see her smile before.

There was no mention of the not so dead Consulting Detective for the rest of the evening as Molly, Henry, and Nina caught up. She felt sorry for Tom, who just seemed to be along for the ride, but he occasionally offered a few things that were all rather silly. Slowly, Molly gathered more information on him as the night wore on, even as she nibbled on her chicken and listened to Nina describe a patient who had a hernia for twenty years before finally deciding to get it removed.

"So Tom, what do you do?"

"Oh nothing so exciting as doctoring—yeah that's a word right? I do medical coding—get to stay at home and do it. Actually I can do it from just about anywhere."

"Well that sounds fun, I suppose."

"The job's boring but I did get to work out of Nepal last year because I felt like it, so there's some ups."

"Wow…I've never been to Asia at all." Really, Molly wasn't that well traveled. Only a few pops over to France in her youth was the extent of it. She never really thought about it much, but it did sound a little exciting, a little different to go somewhere like Nepal.

"Yeah, I got sick though the first two weeks I was there, then I lost my passport and had to trek back to the consulate and then it all got sorted out. Course I got hit by a car on the way from the airport too."

Molly giggled, "I'm sorry but you have shit luck."

"Oh he does!" Nina laughed as well, "Tell her about that time when we were in Edinburgh!"

Tom blushed looking down at his hands, "I uhm rather not."

"Oh, do tell me, I've likely done something just as silly if you're worried about embarrassment."

It turned out that Molly Hooper hadn't dome something as embarrassing as climbing into the wrong car and offering a very confused woman (He insisted she looked a great deal like Henry from the side) his half eaten sandwich but for his sake, she simply told him about one very awful Christmas.

They were kindred spirits from the beginning, both a little odd and dorky but both well meaning in nearly everything they did. The process of exchanging numbers, a call, and a decision to go for drinks helped lift the burden she carried. She was happy to have a mate that didn't quite know her history with Sherlock or how frightened she was when constantly in the man's presence. It was almost freeing to know that Sherlock wouldn't burst into the lab at any point in time. She was able to experiment a little with makeup without the change being noted immediately. She could wear more form fitting clothes when out and about without thinking about her breasts being too small. No one was there to tell her that her lips were too thin either.

It all did wonders for Molly to realize that she had no one to impress or answer to except for herself.

"Why are we doing this again?" Molly asked, huffing for breath at the top of the bluff.

"It's a meteor shower! We have to be out of the city to see it properly." Tom replied, setting their packs down.

"And that required a day long hike because—?"

"Well I thought we'd combine three of my favorite things; astronomy, hiking, and camping."

Molly spread her blanket and practically fell on top of it, "Your favorite things are killing me, mate."

"Don't be so melodramatic."

"Tell me, why is it that the only time you can walk a straight line is in the middle of a forest?"

"That's a mystery to me as well, love." He set up everything around her while she rested, perfectly fine with the less athletic woman not helping so much with camp.

When night fell, they passed the telescope and a water bottle with vodka and soda water back and forth, laying back on the blanket. As the meteors fell, Tom described in perfect detail their nature and why they looked like the stars were falling from the sky. Being a city girl through and through, Molly never really looked up at the sky much, and London's fog always covered the stars anyway. She never really thought of up as anywhere but there. Yet to Tom, there was something almost magical in describing the way space worked.

"We should definitely do this again." Molly whispered.

"Again? So was the hike not so bad?"

"Oh it killed me, but this was worth it."

"I'm glad…I was trying real hard to think of something to impress you and kept coming up empty. Thought I'd finally put my astronomy classes to good use."

"Hmmm?" Molly asked turning towards him as he kissed her chastely on the lips.

His eyes were wide and vulnerable. He was about to open his mouth and no doubt apologize but Molly laughed and rolled towards him, embracing him and kissing him harder.

After that, she supposed it went like most couples did: A year in a half of dating before there was an offhanded comment about marriage that turned into blundering into a jewelry store to pick out a ring. It all happened in the wrong order but Molly didn't mind. She never minded abnormal things. They were going to go in on a house together, one on the outskirts of London that was between their favorite hiking spot and her work. They both didn't particularly like the idea of having children despite loving children, and neither wanted a fuss for a wedding.

Then Sherlock came back.

She smiled at him in the mirror, turning around to give him a short hug.

"I'm glad you're back." It was all she said and all she hoped to say before she rushed out of the locker room and left him to his own devices.

Tom knew something was wrong. He ran a gentle hand through her hair as she kept running every conversation she ever had with the infuriating man through her head. Yet she brushed him aside, even when he tried to make her laugh. It wasn't until she went on a case with Sherlock for the day that she felt any sense of closure with a kiss on her cheek. It felt good to have Sherlock wish for her happiness. Yet said happiness was faltering.

She returned home and unwound her scarf, hanging it on the hook.

"Did you—did you have a relationship with him?" Tom asked her from his place on the sofa.

"Not that sort." Molly shrugged, deciding to sit next to him and lean against him, "We're friends and for him that's an odd enough thing. Sorry my mind's been all out of sorts."

"Mine too." Tom replied honestly, stroking her back. For a moment they sat in a content silence, "Molly could you ever love him?"

"What?" She sat straight up and looked at him in the eye. Tom seemed rather sheepish, looking anywhere but her in that moment before she grabbed him by the chin and forced him to look at her as well.

"He's a genius like you, and he uh well is good looking and you've been friends for a long time and—"

"Tom, I love you."

"Molly, I'm just saying—"

"I love you." Molly stroked his cheek and then leaned in for a kiss, speaking against his lips, "You make me laugh. He makes me cry."

"I never want to make you cry."

"You're too much of an idiot to." Molly slipped a hand beneath his shirt, "Now let's stop talking for a bit."

At the Watson wedding, he tried to make light of Sherlock's speech but she stabbed him with a fork. It was a tiny and abrupt argument before they decided to enjoy the festivities. Molly briefly considered following Sherlock but as she thought about that, her grip tightened on Tom's hand. He made her happy. She was happy but he was slipping away more and more often. It forced her to wonder and it forced her to doubt, twisting the ring on her finger nervously more often than not. He no longer spoke excitedly of their wedding and grew very withdrawn every time she mentioned setting a date.

Molly was too stressed out (again, Sherlock's fault) to realize that he almost stopped talking to her altogether. She noticed his things were slowly disappearing from his flat, and one day, got home to find that he had moving boxes ready.

"What are you doing?" Molly tried not to sound too accusatory.

"I thought a lot of my things were cluttering everything up." Tom replied, kicking at one of the boxes "Useless."

"Tom it looks like you're moving out."

"That Sherlock bloke's ought to realize what's in front of him." Tom said instead, confusing Molly further.

"Sherlock? What does Sherlock have to do with any of this?"

"I'm just a replacement for him!"

"No, Tom, you're not—"

"We look eerily similar—"

"But you two are nothing alike! Tom, I love you, I adore you, why on earth would you think that I would—?"

"Because it would be easier!"

"What would be?"

"It'd be easier to just stick around and say goodbye!"

"What the hell are you going on about?"

"Molly…Molly…Molly." He started pacing about the room and that scared Molly.

It scared Molly that he wasn't carefree anymore, that he was tearing at the curls in his hair and almost throwing a tantrum that she could liken to one of Sherlock's. Tom was nice and grounded, she didn't need him to have some sort of eccentric breakdown, not another reason for people to doubt that she loved him as more than a cheap imitation of Sherlock Holmes. She cringed, as she bumped into the table, knocking a paper to the ground. Slowly she bent over but read the hospital logo at the top and before she knew it, she was absorbing the words written by Tom's doctor.

"Tom?" Her hushed voice caused him to pause in his actions and his face paled, "Tom…darling this is—"

"I wanted you to hate me, I wanted to hate you—why couldn't you have hated me?"

"Because I love you, silly." Molly's voice rang out loud and clear in comparison to his whisper.

That last night was hurried and almost violent in nature as they crashed together over and over again and Molly could barely move come morning. It was so unlike the quiet, easygoing relationship they had before. It had been desperate and painful but wholly necessary. Tom was already changed into casual outdoor attire, with his sturdy hiking boots laced up and ready to go as well as his heavy coat over his arm, and a backpack that looked rather light sitting by the bedroom door.

"You shouldn't be rash about this—"

"There isn't anything to be rash about, Molly. I'm—I'm going."

"Tom—"

"I don't want you to see me wither and die."

It was the only time his words sounded so firm, so final that she had no refute until he lifted the ring from her finger and left her standing there alone with boxes. Even if she wasn't Sherlock Holmes in all his great genius, she knew what Tom was about to do. She saw the ticket on her table. He was going to their forest.

"But I thought you wouldn't make me cry."

For a moment, she wanted to kill Sherlock in his high and callous nature. Then when someone almost did it for her, she panicked. A goodbye left in the form of a voicemail sent her towards the cemetery and a familiar granite grave. Along the way, "DID YOU MISS ME!" emerged and Molly took a deep breath. They wouldn't let Sherlock go with _that man _on the loose (He was dead but it didn't matter). Another figure was already there, waiting for her.

Sherlock clasped his hands as he stood in front of the grave with Molly. She stared down at it. Tom wouldn't have wanted something so silly and traditional but graves were for the living to visit, and his mother didn't very well want to dump his ashes in the forests and have to climb a great deal to feel close to him. Of all people to be next to her, the last person she thought it would be was Sherlock. He was oddly quiet, likely still with the Moriarty scandal still fresh on his mind. Molly tried not to think too hard on the fact that she almost lost her dear Sherlock too. That would be more than enough to send her over the edge.

Yet, there was a degree of calm she felt. Tom went precisely the way he wanted to in the end. It still hurt, despite his efforts to distance himself.

"You knew he would do this." Sherlock finally spoke quietly, breaking the companionable silence.

"He didn't want to draw it out. It was terminal—he had barely any time left." Molly shook her head as tears spilled out and down her cheeks.

"I—I'm sorry, Molly Hooper."

"For what?"

"For not seeing."

"You only saw what you wanted to see." Molly muttered. "Isn't that what ordinary people do?" Molly thought he wasn't ordinary. That's what made him a perfect being in her mind.

"I didn't want to see you hurt."

Molly nodded, "I appreciate that—but you managed to hurt me further. You're quite bad at this whole friend thing."

"Everyone believes that you simply entered a relationship with him based on his physical resemblance to me…but that's not true is it?" Sherlock asked, ignoring her dig.

Molly snorted, shaking her head, "You of all people suddenly realize that my world doesn't revolve around you? I'm amazed." More tears clouded her eyes and caused her to look away as she quietly cried into her hand.

"What is it that he…he did for you?"

Molly's brain immediately translated it properly, "You mean what did I love about him?"

"If you must phrase it that way."

"…he made me laugh." Molly smiled lightly.

"Now he's made you cry." Suddenly, she felt thin gentle fingers splay across her cheek, wiping the salty tears from beneath her eyes with his thumb.

"Why are you here, Sherlock?"

He frowned, words of sentiment likely having to arrange themselves properly in his head before he could hope to say them. Tom could always say what he meant so easily, even if it all came out a jumbled mess of stream of consciousness, "I wanted to make you smile."


End file.
